


Like North and South

by Clevertyrant



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: ...how it works, M/M, forwarned is forearmed, gaiden spoilers, go play with barbie or something, it might be comical depending on your sense of humor, moral: they all need a psychiatrist, my idea of romance is wrecked as fuck, plotless stuff, so kids, there's no porn but the content is unsuitable for children, when people make out and have no fucking clue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevertyrant/pseuds/Clevertyrant
Summary: Three months into it - when he isn’t even sure if they’re effectively seeing each other or just pretending -  he still doesn't have a clue of what to do with... thatstuff.





	Like North and South

 

Kimishita's gaze is on the floor. His back flat against the wall of the storage room hidden in the back of the shop and the boxes he carried just a few seconds before now scattered at his feet alongside their contents.

He can feel his breath catch in his throat with awareness that, no, frowning at the void won't remove the six feet of wrong reality and messy red hair almost bordering on hyperpnea in front of him.

"Oi, I'm up here... you ass.'' This is bad. Bad in more ways than just one.

Kiichi's hands are firm on the surface behind Kimishita with the tips of his fingers playing with the suspiciously flimsy plaster and chipping off flakes of it… nervously. Atsushi can’t see his face and he doesn’t wish  to do so because he’s perfectly aware that making eye-contact now would be a faux-pas.

There’s a reason if he despises pressure,  which isn’t just related to the fact that it turns him into a skittish  human being. Pressure forces him  to crash face-first into things and thus take wrong decisions. And that’s Kiichi’s  kind of approach; not his. He hates how sweaty and heated is the skin of the palms he’s keeping firmly balled against his sides. He can’t stand the nauseating sensation squeezing his guts at each breath he takes. It’s maddening. It’s tiresome and he has no time to take care of it.

“What’s this?” Kimishita cracks a smirk, the slightest hint of it barely grazing and curling the corner of his mouth. “Did you organize this big ambush just to piss me off? Because if that’s the case, congrats; it worked.” A single trail of sweat trickles down his temple. “Now get out of my way.” 

"Big words comin’ from someone who ain’t even lookin’ at me in the eye." There isn’t a fragment  of irony in Kiichi’s voice and that detail makes Kimishita shudder. Instead, there’s impatience; as if he's making a point that he won’t move unless he’s given what he wants. What a kid.

“I’m busy you kn—” Kimishita starts.

“ _Always..._ ” Despite Kiichi’s response seems to hide a strong period, is trailed off, a blank space Atsushi doesn’t need to wreck his mind over to fill.

“Well, it shouldn’t be a…” When Kimishita finally looks up, as expected, words fail him. Kiichi is uncharacteristically serious. And when that guy is that serious  Atsushi can't do anything else than shut his trap, swallow whatever he was going to say and just stare back, nonplussed. Just a few months ago he would have never thought he'd witness the day when their faces, inches apart, wouldn't be so close because of some idiotic wrangle. As he would have never imagined either these ever smirking lips in front of him would be capable of curving that way, so dejected… or that somewhere in his chest something would tighten at the sight.

Kiichi has never been someone hard to read, he shows every side of him so naturally and unabashedly that often, too often, that overbearing attitude attracts hostility like a magnet. However, never once during the many years Kimishita has known him, has he seen sadness overcome an otherwise uncaring mien.

This time, Atsushi doesn’t avert his gaze even if he really wants to... but he’s panicking inside. Logic doesn’t work if his mind is overwhelmed by confusion and fright, which usually interfere when he can’t anticipate others’ reactions. His eyes start to flicker from Kiichi to the shelf behind the tallest boy intermittently. 

“W… what are you here for, anyway?” Stupid question, and Kimishita chides himself almost immediately for asking. At that, though, Kiichi heels forward, and does it so awkwardly and jerkily it seems almost he doesn't want to do it himself, until he’s near enough that his nose brushes against Atsushi’s.

“You. Ain’t like… obvious,  dumbass?”  Finally the ghost of insatisfaction mirrored in his russet irises disappears replaced by usual mockery and anticipation.

Kimishita freezes where he stands, his skin prickling with goosebumps. 

God, if doesn’t hate  his guts more than usual in this moment. It’s weird. Weird because every time they tried before, Kimishita always ended up rustling up some excuse to slip off from the other guy’s clutches. Weird because it’s him. Weird because Atsushi’s stomach shouldn't  churn that way for him. Weird because when he says  shit like that  he can’t come up with an excuse to deny he’s ridiculously… fond… of all of this, no matter what he says or who he wants to fool. 

Honestly, Atsushi has never been a guy prone to fantasize over frivolous stuff like… romance. It's not he’s never thought about it, he just set that stuff as his lowest priority in life... after soccer, after duty, after study and after work. He’s aware that a normal healthy teen in his stead would’ve jumped the gun at the first occasion (he jacks off too sometimes and there aren’t many choices when it comes to it… that’s also what makes him aware of his unhealthy attraction toward taboo people such as Kiichi) but he simply can’t get past brushing hands without finding it ridiculously out of place and atypical.

Three months into it - when he isn’t even sure if they’re effectively seeing each other or just pretending -  he still doesn't have a clue of what to do with... that _stuff_. When they had finally found the courage (or more like… were forced) to yell in each other face that mayhaps they possessed more chemistry than they thought, it didn’t turn out being a stroll. They’re not compatible, it’s a mess of _I can’t stand whatever you do, even though I kinda like you_ , and that's it. So, why… didn’t he just drop it like he’s used to when he thinks that something it's not worth the hassle?

Kimishita’s lips flatten into a thin line. "Ten minutes.'' His words fall against the other mouth, muffled and tentatively unbothered. ''... I've got a shop to watch.'' 

Kiichi can distinctly hear the metaphorical sound of his balls falling on the floor whilst his eyebrows knit in a deep frown.

What the fucking hell?  He's trying so hard  not to complain about the fact he has to stoop so low in order to smooch a peasant which from his perspective is also a dwarf, doing that in a goddamn 4x4 room with the handle of a broom poking at his ass and that he doesn’t know where he found all the patience to wait for him for three damn months (since patience, to this day, has been just an exotic word he didn’t need to think about) and… that bastard has the guts to bring up that shit… again? 

"There's nofuckingbody in your shop and what?! I ain't the prickbitch who scoped the floor for thirty minutes before givin' a damn o' me... _you_ are that. So ten minutes my ass!'' The onliest effect Kiichi’s retort has on the other is waking his desire to just walk out on him and dump his ass straight away. If someone dares tell him again feelings aren't utterly useless...

“Somebody could come in the next decade  and  I’d wish to possibly be there before this place gets shut down. ‘Work’ is a word absent just in your vocabulary, not mine.’’ Moreover, he didn’t even want to do this to begin with. It was Kiichi the one who followed and... cornered him.

“Fuck you, will ya?! I waited three months in order to get yer frigid ass here and sorry if I’m a bit happy  if I can finally kiss y—!” One of Kimishita’s hands literally flies on the other’s mouth, clamping it shut. “Don’t be so loud!” The midfielder hisses, wide-eyed and embarrassed. “My neighbours don’t need to…”

There’s a moment of silence after that, in which they just stare at each other — still grimacing — and where Kiichi’s right hand grabs Kimishita’s wrist slowly peeling off the palm from his mouth. 

“What?” The reply to the midfielder's whispered question is something that never leaves Kiichi's lips if not in the form of a satisfied, throaty burble when they finally meet Kimishita’s.

Kiichi can feel the flesh under his mouth shake so much at some point he even wonders if the temperature suddenly dropped and he didn’t notice. He peeks at the other from half-closed lids; Kimishita’s hands clutch at his shirt in the desperate attempt to control himself and… Kiichi likes it… a lot. Apparently, so much that he fails to suppress another groan against that impossibly dry mouth. He tilts his head a bit and cups the other’s face between hands, letting the inner side of the bottom lip trail over the chapped skin like another tongue.

Atsushi swallows. His mouth slightly parted, his breath already short and irregular in his lungs. Fuck him. Fuck this. Because this is good. So good, that every resolution to keep this quick and short disintegrates against the rich, intoxicating  taste of strong mint invading his mouth. 

“Kimishita…” strong, low, deep— he never wanted to hear him… like now, because he knew, that in the moment his name would tumble out from Kiichi’s mouth like that he’d just...  yield and break completely. And he doesn’t like it, doesn’t wish to like it, even if he does… so much… that all his body shudders in response.

For him.

To him.

At some point he barely feels the wall banging against his nape, when Kiichi stumbles on the boxes under them and leans in on and over him completely, his breath so hot against Kimishita’s that he fails to understand which is whose anymore and... tilting his chin comes natural, as instinctively roused is his desire to part lips and brush the flat of his tongue against Kiichi’s chin, it’s sloppy and he loses embarrassing trails of saliva more than once in his attempt, but every iota of common sense seems evaporated in favor of blind hunger  — that the redhead doesn’t delay to get this time. In fact, as soon as the tip of Kimishita’s tongue laps once more the underside of his bottom lip he angles his face so that he can lace it with his own and force the other’s muscle in his mouth, a flushed, open-mouthed and panting version of him he probably won’t see again for a long, long time after this but that… fuck… if isn’t a turn on.

Kiichi hasn’t the slightest clue of how this should work, honestly, the onliest version of a french kiss he’s seen in his life was in a manga and not even that detailed… and… having him no close friends besides Hideki (which for some reason never brings up the subject— maybe he never had a girlfriend too — he’s so… common… after all, nothing compared to Kiichi’s naturally hot sex appeal… or so he thinks) also means his knowledge of what to do with mouths stops at brushing teeth.

He has still Kimishita’s tongue trapped between lips, and what to do with it goes beyond him. The only thing he did until know has been suckling it like a popsicle… and the slightly audible humming he hears from time to time suggests the other might not dislike it, after all. 

Not bad. 

He’s so skilled. While he’s still at it, Kiichi juttles down a mental note to compliment himself later.

And… Kimishita is there, before him… no… under him, hair disheveled and messy, cheeks heated and hot, irises blown and dark that for once in his life are brimming with something that’s different from anger or annoyment, that are so piercing Kiichi wants to…

“Oi… what do you think you’re doing?” 

Kimishita’s ticked off timbre comes back at full force against Kiichi’s mouth. He’s looking down, no… more like... he’s glaring at something. 

At Kiichi’s hand.

At Kiichi’s palm that’s firmly open flat on his crotch.

Both stare at the offending limb for a couple of seconds, until they meet halfway in a new eyelock soon after. 

“I’m... gropin’ you?” Effectively, he didn’t even notice. He was so engrossed in the kiss his hand must’ve flight there on it’s own, but again, he sees nothing wrong with it. They’re making out after all, isn’t this what people call preliminaries?

“I can see that, idiot! Why are you—” 

“You ain’t stoppin’ me.” Kiichi cuts him off with the innocence of a first grader and Kimishita winds up gawking at him as though some important piece in his brain suddenly jumped off the gearwheel without him noticing.

“S—s...s…s...s...” The evidence of having not a single excuse or straws he can clutch at starts bringing heat to Kimishita’s face. His eyes are wide and he’s… stuttering like an idiot! For the first time in years he’s not able to rustle up a decent comeback… because… because what Kiichi says is undeniably... 

_True._     


Kiichi, on the other hand doesn’t seem bothered in the least, he’s too occupied with his new game to give a shit. He gives an experimental squeeze where he’s touching, feeling Kimishita imperceptibly jolt under his hand.

When Kiichi looks up, Kimishita is still glowering at him, but his head is slightly tilted backwards against the wall and both his hands are firmly strangling his own weird patterned shirt. What an unexpected sight. 

So much for someone who just a few seconds before was abjectly refusing the idea of even kissing. 

“You ain’t punching me…” Kiichi’s timbre is a whisper while, once again, he moves closer— ending up hiding his face in the crook of Kimishita’s neck. “You... nuts?” He adds, seizing a patch of flesh in his mouth, which he starts suckling.

“Shut… — no bites  — up.” As response, obviously Kiichi does what firmly he’s been told not to  and designing a confused pattern of saliva until the desired spot, sinks his teeth right in the collarbone. The suppressed moan that comes after doesn’t fall on deaf ears, in fact, Kimishita can distinctly feel the mouth of his ex-archnemesis curling into a smirk against his burning skin. “Asshole.” He intones through gritted teeth. And the more Kiichi’s hand rubs against the fabric clothing his cock, the more Kimishita feels like losing the actual will to reproach. 

The truth is, he’ll never admit it but his hands… feel… so...

“Yep, ya should get it ready.” 

Just when Kimishita was about ready to yield against the thought that letting go from time to time isn’t a crime, Kiichi - as usual - talked out of his ass awakening all his inner alarms at once. Thus, no sooner has Kiichi started moving north in order to slip his hand in Kimishita’s pants…

“Fu— ugh!” Than a elbow hits him right in the sternum forcing the redhead to backoff and fall on his ass. “You son of a bitchin’ bitch! The hell ‘s wrong with you hittin’ people while you fuck?!” 

“The hell is wrong with you  believing you’re gonna fuck me to begin with!?”  He’s not against it, he’s utterly  against it. Kissing was fine, touching an option he allowed but… getting screwed? Him? Never. Standing up, Kimishita starts heading toward the door and there aren’t ifs or buts he’ll listen to this time.

“Oi! What are you— no, where  are you goin’?! And what do you mean with we’re not gonna…” Trying to quickly get up from his current position, Kiichi almost trips on his feet knocking over another couple of boxes on the way. If he doesn’t grab his arm in time the midfielder will surely disappear in the meanders of that run-down hut once again and goodbye cumming.

“I’m talking to you idiot! Where are you going?!” This time he’s truly pissed off and so done with his mood swings that he wishes he had a rope so he could tie him up and have his fucking way with that bastard once and for all!

“Let go.” As expected, Kimishita’s words are like burning frostbites; it means he’s not up for compromises…  when they ever solved anything through diplomacy, anyway? 

“I asked where the fuck you’re goin’ asshole!” Let go? Sure, if anything, Kiichi’s hold on Kimishita’s arm tightens like pincers.

Kimishita’s jaw flexes, hard. “Behind the counter. Go home.” 

“No!” Kiichi’s fingers dig into Kimishita’s arm, goading him to spun around and grab Kiichi’s collar, yanking him down. “I’m gonna kick your ass outta here, then!” 

The fact they’re once again growling at each other isn’t a news, what’s brand new is their current state while doing it.

“It’s less effective than usual when you tell that to my face while sporting a ragin’ hard on between your legs, yanno?” Kiichi’s brows rise in an obvious stare that makes all Kimishita blood drain from his face… but apparently not from somewhere else.

“I  a-s-s-u-r-e y-o-u, shitface… that the only thing  that’s on, here, is the _raging part_.” Which is a lie but doesn’t really matter. Whatever his treacherous body is doing to him can be cooled down anytime. Unlike his bad mood.

“Same. But I’m also horny.” Unbelievable. How in the goddamn universe is he capable to say something so embarrassing with that ugly pan on his face is beyond Kimishita, who at the moment, is undecided if putting on display his most disgusted expression or his most enraged… or ashamed one. So it ends up being a strange mix of all three, plus a weird outraged blush. “That’s your problem! Go jack off somewhere else and get out of my way!”

Kiichi’s eyes narrow dangerously and while he takes a step forward, also starts inflating as much air as he can; puffing his chest out.

“Wh—” 

“No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! N—” Kimishita’s hands, once again land on his mouth and clamp it shut. Seriously, what the fuck of strange spoiled shit did he eat the day he decided he was attracted by that bratty, spoon-fed idiot?!

“Another word and I’ll snap that neck of yours with my bare hands.” Now the few customers they had left in the neighborhood will undeniably turn into _ex_ -customers because of that imbecile.

“Nghngn?” The muffled question of course doesn’t reach him, but Kimishita doesn’t even need to know what he’s saying to get what that jerk wants to hear as a reply. He knows, but he’s not going to give it to him.

“This definitely turned me off, thank you. Now go home. Shout as much as you want, sleep here, do whatever you want. I don’t give a damn anymore.” His ultimatum is sharp and definitive; and judging by Kiichi’s scowl he must have got it too that he’s definitely done for good now. In fact, as soon as his hand leaves him, all the other lets out is a fuck off  with consequential turning away and walking toward the farthest corner of the room. Kid.

Without so much as looking back, Kimishita slams the door behind him. 

Seriously, he doesn’t give a fuck.

 

* * *

 

The hands of the clock sign six in the evening.

Kimishita barely glances at it, standing still like mulberry on his stool and looming over the open register under his crossed arms. The only moving part of his body is the index finger that taps on the wooden surface of the counter. It has been a whole hour and Kiichi hasn’t emerged from the storeroom. So, unless he slipped out from the window, since there are no other entrances, he must still be there. Not that he’s concerned. As he pointed out before, for all Kimishita cares the other might as well camp there all night long. 

Shrugging, he goes back to leafing through the pages; painfully aware that he’s not reading a line of what’s written on them.

It’s annoying.

So annoying.

“So fucking annoying.” In the past he would’ve probably let it go, even because there’s no past that he remembers involving him and Kiichi as more than… what? Acquaintances? They’ve never been friends, not exactly enemies but not even buddies. So, he never felt the necessity to be concerned over that stupid pile of ego. More or less. No, definitely not. Maybe just sometimes. Rarely. Almost never.

If that’s true, how did he end up like this? How did they end up entangled in this fucked up and unnamed mess? It was okay, it has been okay until now because it didn’t involve direct contact; they were like before… just less… and more…

Now they broke that safe boundary that relegated them as not nothing but still something… turning it  into definitely a thing.    


Fuck it.

It was already hard to accept he had feelings or… felt sexual… desire… over a guy. But that guy  turned out being Kiichi and their mutual… what was again? Admission? That, wasn’t what one would define drawing lines. It’s all blurry and they kissed. It’s all confused and they went beyond that in a day… and…

“Look at me.” Exasperated, Kimishita drowns his face into the palm of his hand. “I think like a stupid m…” And it hits him. The suspicion, the thought, the vague idea that… this might not be just something above nothing, after all.

“This is bad.” Very bad. 

Unfocused. Always on the verge of paranoia. Being easily flustered over trivialities. Thinking about the same thing all over again. Feeling as if something it’s flipping in his stomach. There’s no mistaking. 

This rancid, unwanted, totally useless and trivial sadness mixed with happiness, mixed with anxiety, mixed with whatever other shit there’s inside that cauldron of messy feelings… it’s undeniably…

The clock hits six-thirty.

At the same time, Kimishita’s phone rings.

**You have 1 new message.**

He ignores it.

The phone rings again.

**You have 2 new messages.**

“So annoying.” If it wasn’t useful and expensive he’d throw away that fucking phone out of the window. 

He knew it was him. He set a specific ringtone just so he could deliver all the shit he sends in the spam folder.

Maybe he should change settings and just block Kiichi’s number.

When he taps on the first message, his eyes go wide as saucers. 

_[ There’s cum. ]_

The second message is even more creepy.

_[ On the floor. ]_

He didn’t do that. Oh, he didn’t dare do that in his shop, on his furniture, on the stuff he has to sell. He didn’t desecrate sporting goods with his fucking semen! He didn’t. Otherwise…

The phone rings again and the new message confirms all his suspicions:

_[ Won’t clean. ]_

He’ll kill him.

He’ll kill him.

He’ll kill him!

He stands up abruptly, the stool falls behind him with a loud crash. In love? Him? What was he thinking? He’s going to ruin his fucking life and make sure nobody will recognize his corpse after! 

“ _Kiichi_... you’re _so_  dead!”

 

* * *

 

When the door slams open and the substitute shopkeeper shows up, the room is empty. “Come out, you walking brainhole!” Kimishita shouts. From where, though? That place is so small there’s barely space for boxes, let alone for someone to find a hiding spot. He must have run away from the window then, there’s no other explanation. He’ll take care of the troublemaker later. What’s more important now… is to check the damage and-

“At first I thought o’ baitin’ ya with the good ol’ 10,000 bucks but didn’t have my wallet on me, figure cum-on-floors works too. Heh.” Kiichi’s victorious and proud laugh resounds like the worst nightmare behind Kimishita, eliciting him to turn like a puppet attached to invisible strings. His movements are robotic and jerky and he’s trembling so much - especially his fists - that could sink the Titanic again with the sole power of his rage.

“You…” When Kimishita frames him, Kiichi is casually propped against the door tabloid-dude style, and the uppity, customary satisfied smirk that most of the times triggers Kimishita insane desire to turn into a serial killer in place.

“Oi, thank me will ya? It took me half-a-day and you didn’t even notice.” Kimishita is at loss of words, not only he pulled the worst prank ever, made him so angry veins are still bulging on his forehead ready to explode and a fool out of him but now that motherfucker expects to be thanked?

Is he serious?

“Notice wh…” 

But soon, something; a very small detail clicks in his mind.

The room was empty.

The room is  effectively empty.

Kimishita’s gaze finally - truly - scopes the room again and all the boxes scattered on the floor are now on the respective shelves. He must admit that… this is unexpected.

But not enough to buy him.

“You expect me to offer my ass in exchange? Because if that’s your idea of—” 

“Shit. I didn’t think ‘bout that.” Kiichi cuts Kimishita off and makes a face. Judging from his pissed off expression, it’s clear that he’s saying the truth. But it also confirms once again that his brain went out of business the day he’s born.

“Good, because it wouldn’t work. Why did you do this, then? I doubt you just wanted me to pat you on the head calling you a good boy, so what’s the deal?” Because someone like Kiichi; aka the little lord, aka the guy that pretended caviar and lobsters for lunch  in a school cafeteria can’t come up with such absurd idea all by himself. The whole situation  suggests more that it is one of the first signs of an imminent apocalypse than anything else.

“Would it be weird?” He’s got that face on again. That serious-like mien that bores holes right into Kimishita’s soul and that forces him to… look away. Yes, it’s totally illogical and non-Kiichi-like. And he can’t, to be honest, imagine a panorama in which he willfully acknowledges his mishaps and fixes them. 

Maybe he doesn’t know him like he thought he did. 

“You laughed it off once, how do I know you’re not gonna do it again?” Kimishita knows that he’ll regret spilling the beans. He knows, oh, he’s sure tomorrow and the day after he’ll rue that choice. So he takes a deep breath, turning sideways enough not to meet Kiichi’s gaze.

“I… la… what?” Obviously Kiichi is confused, what the heck is he talking about? Laughed… when? 

“During middle school. The Tokyo Selections.” Kimishita sinks both his hands in his pockets, walks two steps away and then stops in front of a shelf. “I told you that stooping so low as condescending your wistful wish was just a temporary concession, I don’t do it… with-”

Kiichi stares at his back for a couples of seconds, squeezing his eyes as though trying to decipher hieroglyphics written on it. After a while he gives up, waving a hand in front of his face dismissively. “Stop, dude. Make it simpler. Ain’t got half a word.”

Kimishita inhales sharply and resists the urge to throw a damn box in his face. “Fffffine.” Gritting his teeth he starts again. “I told you I was fine calling your name just because it was for a short time, and that I didn’t do it just with anybody. That one was my pat on the head and you sneered at it.”

Gha, that was worse than the last time. Kimishita can feel the last bit of pride under his feet. But if he expected any kind of reaction, it doesn’t reach him. To be honest, he doesn’t wish to turn. It was a very embarrassing line and repeating it again makes him feel like one of those stupid idiots who confess behind the school or whatever. He doesn’t want to turn but… just a bit, over his shoulder, his chin barely brushing it...

He glances backward, just to notice that the other is gaping at him like a stockfish.

Unbelievable.

He waits one beats, two beats… but nothing. Not a shred of insult, a vague reply. Nothing.  Kimishita’s foot taps on the floor, his shoulders start to tremble and finally he snaps, spinning on the ball of his foot.

“Can you at least close that fucking mouth?!” It’s irritating. So irritating. Not only it means he doesn’t remember at all but also that he understood it just now.  He should’ve expected it. Why didn't he expect it?

“I… didn’t know.” That’s all he says. No fat laughing resounding in the distance, not imperious and scornful lines like _why? Because you’re gonna call me Captain from now on?_ Just plain bafflement… that gets immediately morphed into arrogant annoyance. “Considerin’ the first time we met you flung a fucking tissues’ box in my face and started picking fights just because I was better than you at soccer…” 

“Ha?! Who’s the one who almost killed people entering on a school ground with a fucking Mercedes Benz?! Laws. Do you know what laws are? No, logically you don’t because you’re the only ruler of your little fancy world, uh?! You should be grateful it was just a box of tissues!” He’s got the point. Kiichi is dense and needs to be told things as straightforwardly as possible, however, that was just meant to point out that… no matter how he puts it, in the end; the reason was one and only that. He was… somehow… someone he’d looked up to for a long, long time. But he’s not going to tell him that. Never. 

“You asshole! Are ya sayin’ all the times you punched my face after that  don’t count?!” He’s yelling, gesticulating like crazy and deforming his face in thousand different grimaces but… that’s just because this is something simpler to deal with. What Kimishita said has thrown him off in more than one way as it did the first time. The truth is… a part of him was a little happy when Kimishita went straight to name basis with him. Not only because he liked his name for various reasons, but because… outside his family… seldom people used it. No matter how many times he asked or threatened, each way was the wrong way. His height, which he was and is so proud of… since he was kid everybody was scared of it. So… friends… in his book… was a word he could rarely associate to people. So yeah, why should’ve he cared about it? About being called ‘Kiichi’ by someone who basically openly professed his hate towards him?

He did though, for that reason. Because Kimishita professed his hate towards him so openly...

Without masks.

Without talking behind his back.

Without fear.

Kimishita puckers his lips as he’s used to when embarrassment kicks in inevitably. Kiichi fell suddenly silent and what’s left it’s just the void, again. 

“So… basically...”  the midfielder starts, “you wanted to make up.” 

“Yep.” Kiichi tilts his chin and raises his left hand to stroke it, nodding proudly. “I fall for me every time when I have these strikes of genius! Hah!”

Kimishita clicks his tongue in distaste. “With your ego constantly expanding like that, that _genius_  of yours will soon go down the same road as dinosaurs.” 

“Oh?” Kiichi shuts his eyes, playing the actual scene in his mind. “My brain in a museum, uh?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Kimishita is extremely tired,  therefore, just for this time, just this one, he’s going to keep for himself the fact he meant _extinction_.  Massaging the bridge of his nose he heads toward the door, he lost a considerable amount of time with all that to and fro and probably also the income of the day. Exactly what Kimishita needed, _since he swims in a pool made of gold every day._

“Kimishita.” Speak of the devil…  Kiichi evidently has a lot more of free time on his hands since studying is an option he considers just when make up tests threaten to take away his spotlight on the pitch. His rich baritone resounds in the empty, little room and somehow… makes Kimishita shiver… just a little.

“What?” He hasn’t got the time to dawdle around, he still has to make dinner and check on the lost old man that said he was going to run some errands but probably, as usual, ended up crashing somewhere to mooch off saké. 

“I’m staying over. So make sure the linens are fresh and 100% cotton. The cheap one prickles.”

And he still didn’t decide what to put in the lunch box tomorrow, he kept those special deluxe shrimps for dinner and…

One second.

“What did you just say?!” Kimishita is pretty certain each and every hair present on his body goosed up at the same time. “Did the few survivors in your brain finally commit mass suicide?!” And he didn’t even ask, it sounded like an order. “And this isn’t a fucking hotel!”

“Right, you’re a peasant.” While Kiichi mentally peruses variegated options like hiring maids or just haul Kimishita in some discrete and private place they can eventually use to screw until morning; the other’s fuses are about to short-circuit.  Is he trying to pick another fight? He’s definitely doing that.

“Since I’m _a peasant_ , drag your snooty rich ass outta here. As in _now_.” Kimishita lids finally narrow, almost completely hiding the lead-like irises underneath. 

“Uh, no. I’m staying.”

Since when...

“You’re leaving!”

Did he become...

“I’m staying.”

So annoyingly  _clingy?_

“Why?” Why is he asking? Why doesn’t he just punch the living hell out of him? Why is Kiichi still there?

“Because _this_ Ooshiba Kiichi likes you. Aren’t you a lucky bastard?” Kimishita's mouth hangs open. That dude is the strangest kid living on earth. The only one that can probably spit a confession right in your face while contemporaneously bragging about himself and insulting you. And he delivered it with such a determination that Kimishita really doesn’t know if it’s because he’s very reckless or just an utter idiot. What he knows is that it sounded true… that his eyes are definitely not lying. And… that’s probably enough.

However there’s an issue.

“And... you? Do you... like me?” It cracked a bit, the mask of arrogance on Kiichi’s face. He shifts imperceptibly on his feet.

That question is the problem.

Kimishita freezes. To be honest he was still processing the whole day, trying desperately to keep in check and analyze the various phases of his increasing arrhythmia… because he can’t really deal with improvise overdoses of emotions very well. It took him years to school himself enough so as not to burst blood vessels one after another and now the same asshole who pushed him on the verge of exasperation many times with continue provocations is doing it again on the opposite slope.

The irony of life.

“Must… must we talk about this _now_?” Fuck, wasn’t enough what they did before? Kissing, touching… isn’t that a response? He doesn’t like  that kind of conversation. It’s troublesome. On many levels. His eyes flicker from Kiichi’s shoulder to the shelves behind him. 

“No. But if you don’t tell me, I stay.” This time, Kimishita doesn’t yell anything back. Kiichi sounds unfazed, and when Atsushi throws the barest glance at Kiichi, his face doesn’t betray an iota of displeasure. For the moment Kimishita won’t say anything, however, he can tell what brews behind the usual, lofty façade. There's an unspoken sentence faintly glimmering in his eyes. It says: _doesn’t matter, I’m used to it._

He never says a thing. The idiot.

_Say it. Aren't you the one usually shouting out loud? Why can't you just admit openly, this time... what you really want?_

But so does Kimishita. Is he... really talking about Kiichi now? Isn't _him_ the one behaving like a real jerk between them? He knows that. Dammit. _He knows that!_

“I care.” It’s just a murmur, that Kimishita delivers while sharply turning his back to Kiichi once again. His mouth upturned and his jaw set. He’s not certain if the message went through or not, but sure as Hell he won’t repeat it. 

“Where are you going?” Kiichi enquires.

Kimishita’s shoulders jerk a bit. His stoic countenance shrinks for a second, like that of a thief caught red handed.

“My room is narrow… gotta... make some space. _Don’t follow me!_ ” Kimishita’s reply is quick as fast is his body at vanishing on the door; leaving Kiichi in the 4x4 storeroom again.

Kiichi stares at the empty space for a while, before stepping near the window he looks around to make sure nobody is watching him; until he bends a little forward.

“Tanaka.” He calls once, his voice ringing low but clear and commanding outside. 

“Yes, young master?” The bald head of an old man, probably on his seventy, pops up from under the sill. 

“Make sure the employees I hired two hours ago get lotta bucks." Especially because they all came and went through the window just to sort stupid boxes. "And deliver here all my stuff, the school and soccer bags… and sheets. The not-prickly sheets. Also send tons of that… spicy food… ya know, that makes you... how do ya say that... all hot and turned on. I googled it.” Kiichi snaps his fingers trying to grasp the right word, while the butler duly notes his every request.

“Aphrodisiac, my lord? If may I hazard a suggestion, it’d be preferable If I _also_ arranged a variety of _intimate_ pharmaceutical precautions for you and your partner.” Kiichi doesn’t get half of the time what that old funk goes on about. He talks like Kimishita. But who cares? If it’s for the benefit of the cause the more stuff the merrier.

“Yeah do that. An' ya can send flowers or something nice to Hideki tellin' him I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight so I’ll call him tomorrow." Even if... Satou didn't do much, other than telling him to _trying pushing things a bit._ Thing he kind of tweaked, ending up... literally _pushing Kimishita against a wall_. So basically, it was entirely his idea.  
  
"Nah, abort the flowers. It's all." When the dismissive last words reach him, the butler bows once and like a shadow exits the stage, leaving behind him a more than satisfied  young master.

Finally alone, Kiichi smiles to himself.

_He said that he cares._

**Author's Note:**

> Cameos and mentions:
> 
> \- For those who aren't acquainted with names, Hideki Satou is the jersey number 5 of Seiseki; first-string midfielder. And also, the sole holy being alive that befriended Kiichi totally aware of the consequences.
> 
> \- The butler appears in the first OVA of Days.
> 
> \- The events regarding their middle school days happen in the first volume of Days Gaiden.
> 
> Bonus:
> 
>  


End file.
